


Lap Dance (3)

by anonymousmadame2911



Series: The Blue Hippo and the Pink Pussycat [14]
Category: Chris Evans (actor) - Fandom
Genre: Dominant Reader, F/M, Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Public Sex, Rimming, Rough Sex, Smut, Stripping, Sub Chris Evans, Tongue Fucking, dom reader, lap dance, submissive Chris Evans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-24 19:51:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,036
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20020093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anonymousmadame2911/pseuds/anonymousmadame2911
Summary: The smut is at the beginning. Middle...and end.





	Lap Dance (3)

The wake of he MeToo Movement buried Louis’s crimes and his headlines were relegated to the back page of the New York Times and the Washington Post. You had begged your boss at the Pink Pussycat to take you back. You were desperate for money and you couldn’t work with Louis again. The idea of a second contract with Louis sent you into multiple panic attacks. Lucy had gotten her promotion and met a guy. She was sure that this was the one. Sasha had a new job. She didn’t love it, but it paid the rent until she did find something that she loved. You. Well, you felt like you were standing still. You fired your agent. He just didn’t understand where you were coming from. He was a good agent, but he didn’t get you. Through persistence, you got a new agent, Maya Alvarez, an Afro-Latina who had the same background as you. And Chris? He went to Atlanta for filming. Then Birmingham. He would come to New York City when he could. But he had two homes—one in LA, one in Boston and NONE in NYC. You enjoyed texting with him most days, but you didn’t pin your hopes on him. It was gratifying knowing that he gave you this attention. It soothed your battered ego. You made a routine out of going to the Pink Pussycat, choreographing new routines and seeing Sasha and Lucy. You felt almost as if they pitied you, because you didn’t have your life together. 

“I have good news and I have bad news. Which do you want first?”

“Bad news.”

“You have to work with Louis.”

“Excuse me?!”

“Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut. Butbutbut! And listen closely. That will be the last time you have to work with him. They released you from the rest of your contract. Your first routine was such a hit. I guess one of the executive producers’ daughters’ loved you. It’s a mixed blessing.”

“Maya. I—I have to think about it.”

You spoke with Chris on the phone that night and he suggested that you finish out the contract, with minimal contact with Louis. Frustration seeped out of your pores. You ended the call with a frustrated “agh.” You gathered your makeup and threw it in your bag. You headed out to the Pink Pussycat. With your fame came an up-tick in customers. They wanted to pay top dollar for a lap dance with you. They’d seen you in the movie and wanted to tell their friends that they had gotten a lap dance from that girl from that news’ story and that movie. You know the one. It was money though and it paid the rent.   
You headed back stage to the dressing room and put on some emerald green eyeliner to play up your black eyes. You applied some lip gloss on your full lips. You adjusted your top and prepared for your routine. You weren’t blessed like some of the other girls, but you had a loyal following of regular customers. The heavy bass alerted you to the fact that it was time to go out on stage. You crawled across the stage, grabbing a few bills before swinging around the pole. You flipped upside down and did the splits. You grabbed a few more bills, pulled off your top, and tucked the bills into your emerald green thong. You knew tonight would be a good night. You crawled across the stage, grabbing up the other bills and ducked backstage. A couple hundred under your belt and the night was only just beginning. The manager knocked on the door.

“You got a dance.”

“A regular?”

“He looks familiar, but I don’t think so.”

“Ok. That doesn’t help me. I’ll be there. Give me a few minutes. Gotta touch up my makeup.”

You re-applied body shimmer across your chest and ass. His eyes should be going to all the right places. You grabbed your green bikini top, and tied it up. You threw your green tank top on over it. You pulled on the matching green boy shorts over your thong. You tucked your wad of bills into your wallet and locked your bag away in your locker. You opened up the door and your eyes landed on—oh fuck. 

“I thought you were filming.”

“I finished early.”

“All for a lap dance?”

“Well, no one knows I’m here. I’d appreciate it if you could be discrete.”

You sidled up at him and tugged on his baseball cap. 

“You wanna be discrete? Perhaps take this off. You’re all over the tabloids wearing this. What happened to that girl you were supposedly dating?”

“We were never dating. I say one thing about wanting a wife and kids and everyone thinks that means I’m on the hunt.”

You let out a soft laugh. 

“So, you paid $1000 for one lap dance?”

He could’ve had it for free, but you weren’t about to tell him that. He shrugged and placed his baseball cap on his knee. You grabbed it and popped it on your head. You threw one arm over his shoulder and straddled him. 

“Quick and dirty.”

You pull off your tank top and grind hard into his lap. The beginnings of a boner poke your thigh. You slide off his lap and wiggle out of your tank top and boy shorts. You flip his belt open, pop the top button on his jeans and slide down the zipper. You bounce on his lap, feeling his length grow between your cheeks. You’re dripping for this man. Sopping wet. You spread his legs and grab your ankles. You tuck yourself right into him and rub your ass against his length. On the verge of losing control, you quickly stand up.

“Tell me you want this.”

“I want this.”

He reaches forward and grabs your hand. You stumble towards him and practically fall into his lap. Your head swims with desire. You straddle him and slip his length free from his boxer briefs. You shift your thong to the side, the elastic already rubbing on your clit in all the right ways. You brace your arms on his shoulders and slowly slide down on his hard member. With your song quickly ending, you increase your speed and bounce on his length. He grabs your ass and pushes and pulls you along his length. In record time, you’re cumming on his dick. He pushes you off of his dick and pushes you against the mini-stage. You’re hands are against the stage, nearly to the floor. It gives Chris perfect access to your pussy and ass. He fists himself. With one hand on your ass and one on himself, he tongues your tight rosebud furiously. The blood rushes to the surface of your skin. Your skin and scalp tingle. He’s stroking himself viciously and you momentarily think that he’s going to chafe and peel tomorrow. But you don’t REALLY care. You just want his tongue in places a customer should NOT be putting their tongues. Before you realize it, he’s jerking, emitting broken grunts and cum onto your stage. You trip over to your boy shorts and tank top. You toss them on before handing Chris some wet wipes to clean up the cum. 

“Do you need a ride home tonight?”

“Yeah. You know I do.”

“4 am?”

You nod. 

“’kay. I’ll be back then.”

He hooks his fingers into your boy shorts and tugs you close. He gives you a peck on the lips before walking out the door.   
The night passes quickly. Chris returns in a black sedan and you duck into his car. He has broken your resolve. You make out like high schoolers in the back seat. You feel your way up to your front door with one hand on the wall and the other dragging Chris behind you. You make-out against your front door, dropping your keys in the process. 

“Wait. Wait! I gotta get the door open or we’re gonna have sex in the hallway,” you hiss at him. 

“Not a bad idea.”

“You’re a freak,” you wag your finger at him.

You successfully open your door, without any major injuries or anyone falling on the floor. He presses you up against your kitchen counter. You nearly rip your top getting it off. You just want all of your clothes off. You want skin-to-skin contact with this golden Adonis. He nuzzles against your neck. 

“God you were so hot. At the Pink Pussycat. I have never done anything like that before.”

You stop mid-action.

“What?! That’s a lie. You’re the dude-broiest of all dude-bros.”

“What?! Is that even a word?”

“You’re over here actin’ all innocent. But I MET you at a strip club.”

“A burlesque club.”

“A burlesque club is STILL a strip club,” you glare at him.

He’s too doped up on love hormones to realize that you’re glaring at him. He leans in for another kiss and is met with the palm of your hand. 

“What” he mumbles from behind your hand.

“Are you into that? Public sex?”

“Oh, it was definitely thrilling.”

“You’re an idiot. You should have told me that in the car.”

The idea hits him and he removes his clothes with renewed vigor. You flip around so you can rub your ass against his hard on. He grasps at your hips. You tilt your hips forward and he bottoms out. You squeak in surprise. He’s going quick and dirty again. The tip of his dick tubs against your G-spot. A burning pleasure radiates throughout your body. You lean down on the counter, the coldness teasing your chocolate nipples. You grab his right hand and push it between your wet fold. He strokes the length of your pussy, teasing you. He circles around your clit, never giving you what you want. You lean back and firmly place your hand over his and you show him how you like it. You push your fingers over his and rub your clit. 

“God. You’re so hot,” he whispers into the back of your neck.

He likes a good show. You roll your hips in a circle back against him. He pumps furiously into you. You rub your clit faster. The heat in your belly hits a tipping point. It snaps and you’re floating in a sea of pleasure. Your knees relax and Chris catches you. His thrusts become erratic and he pulls out of you. He braces himself against the counter, caging you in. He spills all over your ass. He quivers and shudders in the aftermath. A peaceful silence descends between the two of you. You lean over and tear off a paper towel and hand it to him. He quietly cleans you up and you trip over to the bathroom to pee. You return and he’s already curled up in your bed. You scootch in beside him and hand him a glass of water. 

“Are you going to continue working at the Pink Pussycat?”

“We talked about this already Chris. I need the money.”

“I feel really uncomfortable with you working there.”

“Good thing YOU aren’t working there. I am. How the fuck do you think I pay rent? I have YET to be offered a contract where I can pay off my bills and afford to stop working there. Haven’t you learned? Even TLC were flat broke when they won their first Grammy. Black women in the industry are fish food. We’re bottom of the ladder.”

An uneasy silence fell between the two of you. You flicked off the lights and rolled over. He wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you into his chest. You crumbled. You were tired of being alone in your fight. You were tired of living in a society that treated you like scum by virtue of your skin tone. You were tired of being followed around stores, searched multiple times by TSA before you could even step foot on your flight. The casual—and not so casual--racism got old real fuckin’ quick. Perhaps you could convince Chris to put his money where his mouth is. But all of that would happen tomorrow. Tonight, you just wanted to sleep.


End file.
